I ‘ad a right little chuckle
when I ‘eard he was in th’ infirmary.
His med’cine didn’t agree with ‘im.
My man big Tommy Watkins must ‘ave
put the wind up his son too, and that
pretty little morsel the boy’s got up
the duff. Tommy says they’ve scarpered
back to the girl’s parents, in some
toffee-nosed nook of the big smoke.
I’ll ‘ave the toff’s ‘ead on a stick,
and ‘is spoilt brat son for a matchin’
trophy. Nobody sneers at Mike.
Let’s see ‘im strut around
like a stuck-up faggot
when Tommy’s disfigured ‘is spawn.